


It Goes Both Ways

by Flames_and_Jade



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Adorable, Angst and Feels, Feels, Fluff, Light Angst, Love, M/M, Tenderness, True Love, a little hurt/comfort, cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 04:04:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8563273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade
Summary: People always thought he took care of Pete. That because Pete was the loud one, the outgoing one, the needy one that he was the one who needed Patrick. Which was true. But it wasn't the only truth.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace/gifts).



 

People always thought he took care of Pete. That because Pete was the loud one, the outgoing one, the _needy_ one that he was the one who needed Patrick. 

 

It wasn’t untrue. When Pete felt like his skin was going to crawl off his body and his insides were going to explode out of the framework of his bones…Patrick knows, and he’ll do whatever he needs to do to help him. Whether that means Patrick has to sit on him to make him look him in the eye, or order him pizza at 2am, or go drive the city to pick Pete up from wherever he’s wandered off to…he does it. 

 

Once, Patrick had gotten a text from him that simply said _come get me_ at 4 o’clock in the morning. He had driven around to all of the places that he had found Pete before—the park a mile from their apartment, the bar that had an air hockey table, the Taco Bell that would make him crazy concoctions if he gave them a big tip, the rocky berm by the lake—no Pete. He had called and called and called and all of them had gone to voicemail. Panic had risen in him as time ticked on… _where the fuck could he be_ , and he had gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands and recited to himself the list he had come up with years ago titled _Why_ _Strangling Pete is Not Worth Prison._

 

But then his phone had buzzed, and he had opened it to a text message with a picture. It was of a street sign on a corner, the kind that had two street names at right angles to each other. _Fourth and Broadway._ A quick search on his phone and he was off, list forgotten as thankfulness had flooded his heart.

 

Parking across the street from the telltale sign, he had looked around…then down at the picture again, trying to figure out what angle it had been taken from. It had been taken looking up at the sign. He crossed the street…and there. Pete was curled up in a ball, leaned against a low brick wall that circled an apartment building. Patrick sat down next to him, not looking directly at Pete—he had learned long ago that it was better to let him make the first move when it got this bad. After a long moment, he uncurled like a pillbug, just enough to rest his head on Patrick’s shoulder. 

 

“Will you take me home?” 

 

And of course, Patrick had taken him home. Had given him a hot shower to warm him up, dried his hair gently, made him a peanut butter sandwich, and held him close as he fell asleep. 

 

But while those times happen, while Pete needs Patrick to calm him down, to remind him he’s okay, to pull him out of his head…he isn’t the only one who needs help sometimes. 

 

It’s funny, really. People always assume because Patrick’s a bit shy, because he’s quiet, because he’s polite that he’s _always_ that way. That those things run through him, that there isn’t any anger or aggression or fear or self-doubt in there. They think he always has it together, because he almost always does, when he needs to. When he _has_ to. 

 

Maybe that’s the beauty of it…with Pete, he doesn’t _have to._

 

Pete always lets you see exactly how he’s feeling. If he’s feeling blue? You’ll know. If he’s feeling happy? You’ll know. If he’s mad? You’ll know. It doesn’t matter who is wondering—it could be one of his best friends, or it could be the kid at the gas station checking him out as he buys a Dr. Pepper and some cheetos. You’ll get straight, unvarnished, shockingly-true Pete Wentz. 

 

Patrick…not so much. It’s almost the opposite really—you have to be one of a select few that he trusts to get to see his true feelings. The world at large will only ever see the polite, kind Patrick. But Pete knows the _real_ Patrick. He knows him like nobody else ever has, or probably ever will. 

 

That’s why he knows when Patrick starts to bounce his leg up and down a million miles a minute when he’s writing music, it’s time to intervene. To ask to hear what Patrick’s working on, to give him a fresh perspective or an idea, or maybe just to tell him it’s beautiful. 

 

He knows that when Patrick is eating his cereal in the morning and he’s finished his first cup of coffee, but is still staring into space, something’s off. If he lets his apple jacks or captain crunch or whatever it is today get soggy (Patrick _hates_ soggy cereal) that he needs Pete to wrap his arms around him and press a kiss to his cheek, and give him the gift of silence and acceptance. 

 

He knows that when Patrick tries on more than two outfits to go somewhere…he’s feeling insecure and needs Pete to tell him he looks good. If the pile of rejects grows to five or more, it’s time to go into full-on damage control—so what if they’re a bit late? They’ll be as late as they have to be so Pete can kiss and lick and touch all of Patrick’s many, many amazing attributes _(seriously, have you seen his ass??)_ until he feels as beautiful as Pete sees him. 

 

He knows that when Patrick falls asleep on the couch watching _Game of Thrones_ that he _really_ is tired, and that maybe Pete should “accidentally” turn off the alarm on his phone so that he can get a good night’s sleep. 

 

He knows that when Patrick smiles that particular smile when they’re in public, the one that shows no teeth and doesn’t reach his eyes, and is followed with a unnecessary adjustment of his hat, that he’s _mad_. That on the drive home Pete’s going to get unloaded-on about whatever it is that has Patrick in a tizzy—the way the interviewer casually insinuated that the other members of the band weren’t as important, or the way the photographer objectified the woman in that shoot, or the careless way a mother watched her child at the park—Pete was going to hear about it. But that was okay, because he knew that’s what Patrick needed. To rant and rave and cuss and rail about whatever it was that upset him so deeply. 

 

He knows that as much as he tries to put on a chipper face, Patrick doubts. He doubts that Fall Out Boy isn’t a day away from falling apart, that the fans won’t hate what they’re making like they did with _Folie a Deux._ He doubts that he’s really an artist and not just a marginally-talented poser that someone’s going to call out someday. He doubts that people think he’s anything but a face, that they think he’s not a performer but rather just a parrot. He doubts that Joe and Andy are happy, that Pete is happy. He doubts…and doubts…and doubts.

 

But that’s why he has Pete. He’s always believed in them, but more then that, he’s always believed in _Patrick._ In his Boy with the Golden Voice. He’s always known that Patrick was special, that he was more than good enough. He had always believed in him—sometimes Patrick thinks that Pete believes enough for both of them. But he’s thankful for it, even though he never quite finds a way to say it. He may roll his eyes at all the times Pete explodes with praise about a new melody, or tells him he’s sex on a stick, or that without him Fall Out Boy wouldn’t even be a thing…but every time he hears it, it warms his heart in a way he’d never admit. 

 

After so many years of insecurity it’s a strange thing to feel comfortable in his own skin, and he’ll admit that a large part of that is due to Pete. It’s his smiles and the way his eyes light up whenever he sees any part of Patrick’s body. It’s the way he touches him—soft caresses, reverent strokes, hungry grabs, and lustful bites. It’s in the way he burrows closer, the way he pulls Patrick to him like he needs to be touching him _everywhere._ It’s in the way he always keeps his eyes open when they have sex…the way he watches and looks at Patrick like he _just can’t get enough._ It’s in the way he absently strokes his back with gentle fingers, always dipping for a moment to touch his skin…like he needs just a moment of contact. 

 

Patrick takes care of Pete. 

 

Pete takes care of Patrick. 

 

It’s love, after all. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a bit of cuteness and a tiny bit of hurt/comfort that struck me when I was reading a beautiful piece by my dearest beta and cheerleader! Hope you enjoy!


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